


Oathkeeper

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [22]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Diverges in Season 3, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Post 3x7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21546289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: On their way back to King's Landing, news of the Red Wedding pours in when they stop at an inn for the night. Ashamed of his family's role in it, Jaime decides to talk to the wench.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	Oathkeeper

Jaime paused at the doorstep, hesitant, wondering if she’d even talk to him after such a twisted turn of events. She had said nothing upon hearing the news, composed as ever, her steely demeanour unbent even after the storm had hit her. Excusing herself, she’d chosen to shun company and grieve alone, punishing herself with solitary confinement for hours - hours he’d spent aimlessly pacing around the inn, lost between the desperate urge to comfort her and the fear that his attempt at compassion might be mercilessly turned down.

He watched her through the gap in the door. Still as a sculpture, she sat, with a vacant stare at the wall in front of her, her steady breathing and the occasional fluttering of her lashes the only signs of life in her. She wasn’t sobbing like people normally did upon losing loved ones, nor was there rage on her face or the thirst for vengeance. A deep sadness, he could make out in those eyes - eyes whose brilliance had drastically diminished since morning; eyes, that he feared, might never grace him with their radiance again.

Guilt gripping him, he gripped the doorknob. Though he wasn’t directly responsible, he felt accountable. He had no fondness for the Starks, but the treachery and back-stabbing behind it filled him with revulsion, more so, the fact that his own kin had brought this upon the family she’d been trying to protect, destroying everything she had with the woman whose feet she’d laid her sword at.

Was Lady Catelyn everything she had? Or everything, _she thought_ , she had?

He could never take Catelyn Stark’s place in her life, but she had made a mark in his, his growing attachment to her evolving into much more than just mere respect or friendship, something so alarmingly deep that he’d woken up several nights dreaming about her, a life with her, a future that could never be, for she’d never bestow her affections on a man like him, a Kingslayer, an--

“Ser Jaime!”

Startled at the unexpected intervention, he straightened, and having no means of escape now that he’d been spotted, he entered, approaching her with slow tentative steps. She sat upright, looking everywhere, but at him, and he sat beside her, half-expecting her to shrink away from him in disgust. But she stayed put.

 _You know not how ashamed I am,_ he wanted to tell her, but his throat went dry and all he could manage was a deep regretful sigh.

“Brienne--”

“Ser Jaime--”

They began talking simultaneously, their words an incoherent mix-up, then stopped, each, anxiously waiting for the other to continue.

“You first,” Brienne insisted, sounding as if she had a bad bout of cold. “What were you doing lurking by the door?” 

“I came to tell you that I--” he began, but broke away when he noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks. “You’ve been crying,” he said, itching to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

She blinked, then pressed her lips together, a stream of red rushing up her neck and face. “I’m alright, I was just--”

“Grieving?”

He slid his hand towards hers, aching to meet the fingers that clutched the bedspread - a sign of the frustration and helplessness she was trying to hide from him.

“It’s--it’s late,” she changed the subject, “perhaps we should--”

“I’m utterly disgusted, disappointed and ashamed of whatever happened,” he blurted before his courage could wear off, not wanting to let go of the opportunity. “That my family has caused you such distress fills me with remorse I cannot quite explain.” Her eyes rose to meet his, shining with un-shed tears - tears, no matter how much regret he expressed, he might not be able to prevent. “I speak the truth though you may not believe me, Brienne, for the words of a Kingslayer, in the eyes of the rest, are those carved on sand. I have been an oathbreaker, but I swear to you that I--”

“I believe you,” came her spontaneous reply, her voice trembling slightly, “and you’re no Kingslayer anymore. Not to me, at least. You’re a good man.”

“You think I'm a good man?” he croaked, her words too kind, too much for a man undeserving of them. Her unwavering faith in him felt too good to be true, and touched, he was, vowing never to let her down, never to do a thing to shake this belief she had. 

“I _know_ you are,” she asserted, her voice, for the first time since she’d spoken, steady as a rock.

His past deeds rushed back to haunt him, and he felt grossly unworthy of her trust. “I almost killed a child to save my family,” he confessed, telling her something he’d admitted to no one but Catelyn Stark. “The day you come to know who it was, you’d resent me. You’d wish you had never known me, Brienne.”

“I know of it. Lady Catelyn told me just before she sent you with me,” she revealed, but not with loathing nor bitterness. “But I also know that you’re no longer the man you were that night.”

Whilst his deeds at the moment had felt justified, they weren’t things he could be proud of. They weren’t acts of honour. They disturbed him whenever he looked back on them. “I killed my cousin.”

“Of that, I’m aware too, but--”

“I’ve killed many--” 

“But you saved me,” she intervened, a stray teardrop clinging to her lower lid, “from the worst fate a woman could suffer from.” When she blinked, it slid down her cheek and Jaime felt an urgent need to reach out and kiss it away. “And from death,” she added.

“Many wrongs, I’ve done, to innocents just to be with my sister,” he went on hoarsely. “I’ve taken countless lives because no one except her mattered to me.”

The glow, the brilliance was back in her eyes when they penetrated the depths of his soul. “You’re wrong, Ser Jaime.”

Shocked, he searched her face for an explanation. “I don’t understand.”

“You say you care about no one but your sister,” she challenged his declaration. “What about the countless lives you saved? If you didn’t care about them why did you protect them at the cost of your vows?”

He dared not answer the question. He dared not tell her that _she_ meant as much to him as his beloved sister and more than anything else in this whole damn world. He couldn’t yet work up the strength to confess that he’d do anything to protect her and keep her safe for the rest of her life-- _their_ lives, if only she wished it too. “What will you do now?” he asked her, instead. “Now that Lady Stark no longer lives, where will you go with Sansa and Arya?”

The brightness went out of her eyes, the momentary shine they’d borne dying away at his question. “I don’t know,” she pondered aloud, her tone distant and lost. “I could, perhaps, take them to their brother at Castle Black.”

“And then?” he prompted, hoping she’d think of life beyond the Starks. “What, after that, wench?”

“I’d like to stay and protect them.”

“What if they don’t need protecting?” he asked, shifting slightly closer. “You’re your father’s last living child, aren’t you? Don’t you have a life of your own? A future to build--”

“I have no life. I had no life and I want no such life,” she asserted, shaking her head. “Catelyn Stark _was_ my life, Ser Jaime,” she said, the intermittent tremors in her voice punctuating her words. “I can’t think beyond--”

“Of course, you can,” he countered, her selflessness and determination to put everyone else above her, frustrating him. “You need a shoulder to cry on,” he said, feeling the pain she was trying to suppress. “You need someone who cares for you, Brienne, someone who can spend the rest of his life with you, grow old with you--”

“No one cares for me,” she snapped in indignation. “Renly did, to some extent, but that wasn’t out of affection but--”

“Are Renly and Catelyn Stark the only people who matter to you?” he snapped back, irked by the attention the dead king commanded. “Can’t you see, Brienne, can’t you see that--”

Still flustered, she tried to evade him with the easiest excuse available. “It’s quite late, Ser Jaime, we ought to call it a night.”

She made to get up, but he lay his hand on hers, grasping it tightly. “Sit down, wench.” 

She did as told, her chest heaving under the strain of the conversation and the weight of the grief she carried. “What’s the point?” she mumbled. “No one cares about what my life's going to end up like.”

“ _If you didn’t care about them why did you protect them?_ ” he repeated what she’d told him sometime back. “Does that not hold the answer to your question, Brienne?”

Her big blue eyes were lost in his. “I don’t understand.”

“The hell you do,” he whispered, shuffling closer. “I saved your life. Why, do you think?”

“Because there’s honour in you,” she whispered back, unblinking.

“And because I care,” he admitted, letting go of her hand to touch her face, “and because I’ve finally woken up to what I truly desire. You need a shoulder to cry on, wench,” he reiterated, wiping the stream that now freely ran down her cheeks, “and someone to wipe away your tears when you’re sad. Someone to spend your life with and share your joy and take away your pain. Someone, who is the person you now see, because of you.” He paused to clear his throat, hoping she would understand, praying she’d help end his misery. “I may not matter much to you, not as much as Renly or Catelyn Stark, and I fail with words when they’re needed the most, but I could hold your hand forever, my lady. I could be the shoulder you’ve been shying away from.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, then started to speak again after a long bout of hesitation and a growing patch of colour in her cheeks. “You do matter to me, Ser Jaime,” she said, so softly, that she was barely audible, “as much as either of them.” Her chin wobbling, she added, “Even more, perhaps,” her afterthought flooding him with the vigour he’d lost along with his hand, “more than I’d thought _anyone_ would.”

He allowed himself to smile. Her words may not have been the ones he’d ached to hear, but her emotions, raw and blatant, were out in her eyes, open for him, crying out to him, screaming that she returned his feelings. When she smiled back at him, a rare smile born out of the purity of the love she bore for him, all that remained were promises to be made - vows that would be kept when she’d fulfilled her own.

He knew what he had to do next, something he’d done a million times in his dreams, something he’d wanted to do since the gods only knew when, but he wanted to tread carefully, to take it one moment at a time, to cherish each second he spent with her. Wrapping his stump around her waist, he gently pulled her closer. Her eyes were on his, waiting in anticipation, and he could feel her heartbeat, as wild as his, the tension running through her no less than his. Leaning, he brought his lips to her cheek, his beard rubbing against her soft skin, his light touch sparking shivers through her, shivers that left her shaking in his arms. Her breathing quickened, as did his, when he brushed his mouth against her temple. He wanted to feel her, to taste every bit of her, to make this kiss, this night and every minute of their lives count. 

With a soft sigh, she draped her arms around him, and he sank in deeper into the embrace. She stroked his back, her fingers wandering on to tickle and tease and kiss the column of his neck, every touch of hers a waiting explosion to tear him apart. “Will you be mine, Brienne?” he breathed, his mouth tracing her cheekbone, his hand travelling alongside her collarbone, just shy of the swell of her breasts. “Would you spend the rest of your life with me?” he went on, his fingers dropping to her chest, playing with the laces on her bodice. She gave him no answer, but shut her eyes with a low moan, and her lips parted, inviting him to relieve her of this agony he was putting her through. Unable to hold back any longer, unable to keep away anymore from the intoxicating pull of her lips, he dragged his mouth down to hers and began kissing her, soft and light, tender and delicate, like a knight would claim the sweet lips of his lady. “Would you bring my dreams to life, Brienne?” He placed another kiss on her, then withdrew, then planted another, and another and one more… until he’d lost count. “Would you--” 

She didn’t let him speak this time, pressing her mouth fiercely to his. Her patience far worse than his, she brought her hands around to his chest, knotting her fists in his shirt, yanking him against her, and he lost his self-control, thrusting hard into her mouth, showing her exactly what she meant to him. She kissed him back with a burst of passion that surprised him, leaving him with a painful, yet delightful rush of arousal and exhilaration. 

“ _Oathkeeper_ ,” she panted, gazing into his eyes with longing when they’d put an end to the pleasurable game they’d been playing. “That’s what you are to me, Ser Jaime, that’s what you’ll always be.”

“You trust me that much?” he asked, touched.

“With my life. More than anyone else,” she whispered, tracing the cut below his eye. “And _yes_ ,” she added, her lips quivering in a smile.

“Yes?”

“The answer to everything you asked when you kissed me, Ser Jaime.” 

Burying her face in his neck, she let herself be held by him, no longer shying away from his comforting shoulder, her grief, her pain, her troubles, his, starting tonight. _No more tears,_ he decided, pulling her closer, _as long as I can help it._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
